


Oh Christmas Tree (oh christmas tree)

by icyvanity



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Cameron is rich as hell, Cameron-centric, Camille loves ALL holidays equally, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icyvanity/pseuds/icyvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait, do you even celebrate Christmas?”<br/>Spreading his arms out as he walked to the door, Linus yelled over his shoulder, “It’s the 21st century, man!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Christmas Tree (oh christmas tree)

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the amazing [lovelyair](http://lovelyair.tumblr.com) on tumblr, as I was inspired to write this by a post I saw on her blog ( [here](http://lovelyair.tumblr.com/post/134202866492/kyleharrisdaily-somethingstef-wrapping-up) )

“Operation Fruitcake is a go,” Camille’s voice crackled through Cameron’s earpiece, sounding triumphant—nothing scared him more than that. Not even the abandoned morgue that he and Kirsten were following Fisher through, at that very moment.

He heard Kirsten sigh beside him and through the earpiece, “Camille, aren’t we only supposed to use the comms for work-related things. Like, _I don’t know_ , talking about the murder we’re in the middle of solving?”

“Someone is not attuned to the Christmas spirit.”

 Holding the microphone away from his face, Cameron whispered, “Do I even want to know what Operation Fruitcake is?”

Kirsten rolled her eyes, “You know Camille. Every holiday is the best holiday.”

Camille crowed, “Who else do you know that hosts ‘The Great Turkey Day Extravaganza’ every _single_ year, without fail?”

“Thankfully, no one; or else their party would clash with yours, and I would have to boycott _both_ of them.”

“Precisely, Dr. Goodkin. Now don’t be a Grinch, and be at our house at 7.”

Cameron relented, ignoring Camille’s whoops of glee. He could’ve sworn Fisher shot him a glare over his shoulder as he made his way into the next room.

“Do you know what she’s planning?” Cameron asked quietly, as Fisher had held a hand up and disappeared through a smaller doorway down the hallway.

Kirsten grimaced, “Unfortunately, yes. Last year, I wasn’t invited; but, my house was littered with grad students in varying stages of alcohol poisoning every morning for a week. This is only the beginning.”

Shots rang out, and Fisher’s backup came barreling down the hallway straight into the room he had just entered.

“Oh god.”

Kirsten rubbed her temples, “Maybe this won’t be the suspect, and we’ll have to keep looking all night.”

“We can only hope,” Cameron agreed, nodding.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, they caught the suspect and Kirsten begrudgingly went home soon after (passing on Camille’s message that Cameron would not make it to Christmas if he wasn’t there at 7 as well as “decked out with some damn holiday spirit”).

Cameron and Linus met outside the house, and he dared to ask, “So, do you know what’s about to happen?”

Bouncing slightly, Linus, wearing a _very_ ugly Christmas sweater, shrugged, “Who knows? But, it’s Camille; it’s bound to be fantastic.”

“Wait, do you even celebrate Christmas?”

Spreading his arms out as he walked to the door, Linus yelled over his shoulder, “It’s the 21st century, man!”

Cameron followed him, muttering, “Am I the _only_ person who remembers ‘The Great Turkey Day Extravaganza’?”

Camille answered on the first knock, and Linus choked a little on his Christmas spirit. She was wearing an elf costume: green and red dress, red fishnets, curly shoes, and prosthetic ears. She pulled Linus inside, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks and leaving red stains on his cheekbones; he blushed.

“Kirsten!” Camille yelled over her shoulder. Her roommate appeared a moment later, wearing a green button-down and a Santa hat pulled down over her ears. She, unlike Camille, was not wearing crimson lipstick; when she kissed Cameron, sending sparks through him like always, she left no mark.

“Minimalist,” Cameron said, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend, “I like it.”

She smiled, gesturing to his red cardigan, “Looks like we both had the same idea.”

Camille and Linus herded them out the door to Cameron’s car, which she _persuaded_ him (threatened would be another way to describe it) into letting her drive (“You don’t know where you’re going!” “You could just _tell_ me.” “But, that would ruin the surprise!”).

The drive wasn’t a long one, and it wasn’t long before Camille ordered, “Close your eyes! And, no peeking!”

She somehow ushered all three of them out of the car without any assistance, despite Kirsten’s protests that this was ridiculous.

“Okay,” Camille said excitedly, “Open your eyes!”

Cameron’s eyes opened, and it took all of his self-control to keep his jaw from dropping. Instead, he felt his eyes filling at the sight of a sign bearing _Melinda’s Cut Your Own Christmas Tree_ spelled out in bright lights.

“A grad student I met in the library last week just so _happened_ to have a tree lot, so I thought I should add it to the activities for Operation Fruitcake!” Camille said, beaming.

Cameron could feel Kirsten’s eyes on him as Camille and Linus abandoned them in favor of chopping down trees.

“Cameron?” she asked, reaching for his hand.

“I’m okay,” he said, sniffing. Shaking his head, he repeated, “I’m okay, I promise.”

Kirsten smiled at him and said, “Tell me about it.”

* * *

 

Cameron grew up privileged, with a mansion in a New York suburb and a nanny to match. Her name was Ellen, and she was a stout Irish woman who’s previous occupation had been an army nurse; she was tough as nails on the outside, but she still turned the other way when he snuck into the kitchen to steal cookies off of the counter. She and her husband, the groundskeeper, had worked for the Goodkins since before Cameron was born, and he shared more memories with them than he did with his own parents, workaholic doctors at one of the best hospitals in the state.

Every December, they went out to the woods with the rest of the staff to cut down a Christmas tree. Now, it couldn’t be just any old tree. The Goodkins had a large foyer which they displayed the heavily decorated tree in, a room with a high vaulted ceiling and a grand staircase running along the side. Every year, the tree had to be massive—large enough so it took up the space in the room and made the house seem a lot less empty.

When Cameron was 10, he had his first of many heart surgeries, right in the middle of December. His parents had bought him a small tree, just small enough to put on the table at the end of his hospital bed, even though they knew he would be home for Christmas. The thought was still nice.

Ellen and her husband checked him out of the hospital on Christmas Eve, and he would be lying if he wasn’t thinking of the tree waiting for them at home. A snowstorm had rolled in, so it took them 2 hours to reach the Goodkin residence. Cameron’s heart was beating faster than was probably healthy, but his thoughts were only on the tree as the groundskeeper unlocked the front door.

The tree positively towered over them, the bright gold star on top brushing the ceiling high above their heads. Cameron felt tears in his eyes as he stared open-mouthed at the Christmas tree. He felt rather than saw Ellen kneel down beside him.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t come with us to pick it out,” she said, wrapping her strong arms around him, filling him with warmth.

“It’s okay,” he sniffed, burying his face in her shoulder. He felt her husband’s arms around them as well, and they didn’t move for a while. When they did, it was so they could slowly walk up the stairs, hand-in-hand. Cameron reached over the railing to brush the tree with his fingers, his face lighting up as he gazed around the room and didn’t feel a bit of loneliness.

* * *

 

Kirsten and Cameron had made their way through the trees, carefully inspecting each one as they went.

“What happened to Ellen and her husband?” Kirsten asked, putting her ax down for a moment.

Cameron smiled sadly, “Well, her husband died two years later, and she retired not long after.”

Kirsten frowned, “I’m sorry, Cameron.”

He looked up at her, and smiled wider. “It’s okay,” he said, “I still have all those memories, and I couldn’t be more grateful it was good while it lasted.”

“Maybe we’ll make some of our own memories, so when you think of cutting down your own Christmas tree, happiness is all that comes to mind,” Kirsten said, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder.

Cameron laughed, “Says the girl with no emotions.”

“If you want to see anger, keep talkin’,” she said, eyes narrowing, but after a moment, she grinned.

From somewhere within the maze of trees, they heard Camille yelling, “Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

Cameron sighed, picking up his ax, “How could you have Christmas without a Christmas tree?”

* * *

 

“How did I think we were going to strap two spruces to a convertible?” Camille demanded later when they had made it back to the car.

“Maybe this will be the end of Operation Fruitcake?” Cameron whispered hopefully into Kirsten’s ear.

Camille whipped her phone out, exclaiming, “Wait! I know a guy with a truck.”

They both groaned as she dialed, but they knew Operation Fruitcake would be a happy memory for all of them.

**Author's Note:**

> [on tumblr](http://lady-gryffindor.tumblr.com/post/134244022843/oh-christmas-tree-oh-christmas-tree)


End file.
